


Peeping Tom

by Vinsachi



Category: Talented Mr Ripley (1999)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-30
Updated: 2018-11-30
Packaged: 2019-09-02 15:53:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16790041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vinsachi/pseuds/Vinsachi
Summary: I'm weightless. I'm bare.I'm faithless. I'm scared.





	Peeping Tom

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sideco](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Sideco).
  * A translation of [Peeping Tom](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/436738) by DeanCastel. 



_I always thought it would be better to be a fake somebody than a real nobody_

Tom Ripley doesn’t exist. Tom Ripley is a dirty mirror. Tom Ripley is a void field. Tom Ripley is a white folded sheet of paper – a dark angle, a light angle – and he has swallowed a rescuing key.

Tom Ripley is a filthy being with a soul bowelled with his own hands. Tom Ripley is a bunch of words with no meaning. Tom Ripley is a white wall in a hospital ward. Tom Ripley is cruel and needs the world’s pity.

Dickie is a magazine cover boy lost in the sea of life. Dickie is the one breathing with that smoky jazz smog from cigarette saxophones. Dickie is a snow-white smile in a dentist’s catalogue. Dickie is a weak-willed armless musician.

Tom Ripley is unhappy.

Dickie is a lost vagabond in the maze of life. Dickie is the one breathing with his own blood from melted records of the 50ies, Dickie is those snow-white eyes on a sunkissed face of a dying man. Dickie is a weak-willed scarcely-silly-but-still-a-silly prince.

Dickie Greenleaf is unhappy.

Tom deprived Dickie of his story. Tom became him. He took his clothes, his money, his name and his rings, as an evidence of his superiority, as an act of worship to himself. He craved more and more.

Tom Ripley is a masochist, he enjoys pain. Tom enjoys being void. But underneath, he hates this.

Tom Ripley is a sinister chest of secrets, an old closet with flyblown fabrics, soaked with turbid water. Tom is a monster and a gorger. Tom needs stories and people to feed his ravenous egoism.

Tom is of gray color, and he has to mix the others’ shades and to take the ones he wants. And the brightest canvas among them all belonged to the Magazine Cover Boy. Oh, the Magazine Cover Boy took possession over all his thoughts. He tied Tom’s arms with his top-class shirts.

Tom Ripley coveted him.

Then, Tom Ripley found Peter. He could feel peter’s warmth without touching him. Tom Ripley killed him. And he was screaming with pain. Who was screaming? Tom Ripley. Peter gave his heart out to Tom, permanently, without consideration. And Tom was screaming.

Tom Ripley was licking Dickie’s blood off his own face, holding the dead body on the bottom of the boat. It seemed that the boat was sinking, and he was dissolving in that man. His journey to the bottom begins.

Tom, Tom, how much do you hate yourself?

He is going to prove it.

Tom Ripley can pretend he’s you. ‘Do you want me to play your part?’ Tom is mysterious. He has no masks, he is just hungry for stories, for others’ lives, he needs to fill the space within, he needs the content which he will throw away afterwards in order to find the new one. Tom Ripley is an attempt of comparison with a life itself.

Tom Ripley murders his own content.

Tom strangles.

Tom will strangle.

Tom wants to conceal, yet he is naked.

Tom just doesn’t want to be alone.

Tom Ripley needs a soul.

Tom is a self-enjoying egoist, he partakes everything curious and beautiful given to him by the existence, he wants to become a story and a life. He is smirking while beholding his trophies.

Tom Ripley hates himself to death, so he is going to strangle everything he loves.

Tom Ripley is a self murderer.

In the event, there are two Toms Ripley. One is dying with screams, begging for mercy, and another one kills and laughs.

Now Tom Ripley is nobody.

Total asphyxia.


End file.
